


Indoor Fire

by clockework



Category: Blackadder Goes Forth
Genre: Fire, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockework/pseuds/clockework
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very, merry bonfire in the dugout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indoor Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxtwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtwin/gifts).



Every day was an average day. Soldiers whose ages were probably less that their shoe size clomped and splurtched through the thick mud of the trenches. Rain, sometimes snow, and with increasing frequency sleet, spat down from the heavens soaking everyone to the bone and causing the thickest of body to shiver.

Captain Edmund Blackadder sat on his bunk and watched the last chair of their dugout burn.

Baldrick sat on the dirt floor, still damp, but nothing like the mush outside, and prodded the chair with his rifle. He had come up with the brilliant idea to start a bonfire in the dugout to keep warm, since nothing else seemed to be able to do the job. Blackadder had argued that it wasn't a very good idea, and it wasn't. Smoke hung in the air, slow and seemingly reluctant to blow out the doorway. But it did. Blackadder's corner was relatively smoke free.

They had started with some spare pieces of wood and a couple copies of King and Country, it was a rule in the trenches, whatever you found, no matter how seemingly useless, you kept. Blackadder had no idea what he was going to do with fourteen broken umbrellas, but he was sure he'd figure something out. He was clever like that. The odds and sods of wood having been used up, they kept it going with the other few issues of King and Country floating around, and they hadn't even found Lt. George's collection. The magazines had been followed by the ladders, just like the last batch of ladders. Then Baldrick's "birth certificate" (a piece of paper congratulating a 'Ronald Ergsmith' for achieving a high score on a Whack-a-mole game in Southern France) and Blackadder's nonessential paper clutter. Which was all of it. That had burned merrily for quite some time. And then, finally, they had to start on furniture. A stool. A table.

Then the chair.

Thick, gray smoke rose from the fire, sparks flew at Baldrick prodded the fire again.

Loud slurps and squelches announced George's entrance several moments before he actually appeared. He burst through the door, huffing and puffing like the wolf of yore. He inhaled several deep breaths of smoke and double over, coughing.

"Blimey," he choked out, between coughs, "I thought," cough, "the worst had happened."

"The worst has happened, George." Blackadder said, still watching the fire. "Or had you not noticed the mud and the explosions and the fact that we are literally living in a hole?"

George ignored him. Or didn't hear him. Or, most likely, couldn't think of anything to say, and moved on to something that he had a grasp on. Namely, the fire.

"Baldrick," He said, slowly, as though he was already regretting speaking, "What is that?"

"It's a fire, sir." Baldrick replied, giving it another hearty poke with his rifle. With a sharp crack, the seat of the chair snapped in two and fell between the legs.

"Ah, see, I'd noticed that." George said, taking a step in, and crouching below the smoke. "I just wondered... why?"

"It's cold, sir." Baldrick said, smiling at George. "And I said to the Captain, I said, 'sir, why don't we light a fire? Those're warm.' and he said 'Very good, Baldrick. Well done.' and-"

"I said no such thing," Blackadder grumbled, glowering. Baldrick's smile didn't waver, but he didn't see the glowering either. George joined Baldrick on the ground by the fire. He sat for a moment before getting up, pulling the blanket, well, the thin piece of material liberally coated with lice, off his bunk and spread it on the floor and sat on it. It made a nice shield between his trousers and and the cold dirt.

"That's true, sir. But a man can dream, can't he?" Baldrick said, George nodded fervently. The phone rang. Blackadder groaned, pushed himself up and answered.

"Hello? Ah. Hello, Darling." Blackadder leaned against the wall, holding the earpiece away from his ear. "Sorry? What was that? You want me to what?"

Shouting could be heard through the phone's speaker, "Sorry, what?"

A powerful gust of wind blew into the dugout, blowing smoke everywhere and making the lights flicker. Eventually the smoke had cleared and the lights decided that they were on. The phone was quiet. Blackadder cautiously lifted the reciever to his ear, as though it was a particularily angry lobster he expected to attack him. The reciever did nothing. No voice called tinnily from the speakers. It was quiet.

"I think the wind blew out the phone line, sir." Bladrick said from the doorway, he was leaning out slightly, on arm waving excess smoke out the door. "Looks like it anyway. Won't be able to get anything from HQ for a couple weeks, I expect."

"It's a Christmas miracle." Blackadder deadpanned, a faint look of amusement on his face. He hung of the reciever and went back to his bunk. The fire crackled merrily.

"You know what we ought to do?" George said, watching the flames. "We ought to roast some marshmellows, or pop some corn. Use this fire properly, like we always used to."

"I can think of several problems with that plan," Blackadder grumbled, "But the most pressing one is, of course, is that we have neither marshmellow, nor corn."

"I do have a mighty tasty looking rat, though." Baldrick supplied, rummaging through his many pockets and pouches before producing a large, dusty and dead rat. He waved it at George, who leaned away from it. "We could tie it to a stick and roast it over the fire. It's be a treat."

Blackadder wrinkled his nose. George turned an interesting shade of green. And a for a moment, it was quiet. Very quiet. No raindrops, no wind. Just three men making living noises and the fire being firelike.

Bladrick put the rat down, and went back to the doorway to investigate.

"Oh." He said, quietly, so as not to disturb the non-hostile silence. "It's snowing."

"Another Christmas miracle!" George cried, clapping his hands together with glee. Blackadder groaned.

"That means it's going to get colder," He said, throwing a scratchy gray blanket towards the fire. "Burn this. Then start with some body's bed. Not. Mine."

George and Baldrick laughed.

"Merry Christmas to you too, sir."

"That doesn't sound like burning bunk to me."


End file.
